I Still Remember
by star of david
Summary: It's too late for Harry to tell Draco how he feels. He reminisces in vain beside Draco's lifeless body. A song fic to Bloc Party's 'I Still Remember'. Written before reading HPDH, so it might be better if you don't think about Book7 as you read this.


**I Still Remember**  
by star of david  
Harry/Draco 

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own the characters in this story; they were created by the genius, JKRowling. I do own the plot.

**SUMMARY:** _"You should've asked me for it - how could I say no?"_ It's too late for Harry to tell Draco how he feels. He reminisces in vain beside Draco's lifeless body. A song fic to Bloc Party's _I Still Remember_.

* * *

"Malfoy, Draco!"

McGonagall shouted your name across the Hall, and you made your way towards the Sorting Hat with such an air of pride. I could tell everyone disliked you at that very moment. I disliked you at that moment too. But I have to admit, I was in awe. The way you carried yourself, the way you sat on that stool, the way you stood up and walked┘it was all so majestic, graceful, beautiful.

Yes, beautiful. Just like you.

It was something I wasn't quite ready to admit to myself at the time. But I acknowledged its presence.

Yes, Draco Malfoy, I've always thought you were beautiful.

I've always admired you from afar. Across the House tables in the Great Hall, a few feet away in Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts, at random instances and encounters in between classes. I've admired you and your beautiful gray eyes -- eyes which you inherited from your father, who doesn't carry those eyes the same way you do. Your gleaming crown of white-blond hair -- hair which you got from your mother, who doesn't quite have the same quality of hair as you have -- give you away in a crowd instantly. Your stance, your stare, your smirk, your intellect, your bravery, your cunning┘like a fox, like a snake, like a true Slytherin. I've pretended for way too long that I despise these things which I love most about you.

Back then, in our first ride in the Hogwarts Express, you had offered me your hand in friendship and alliance. I refused. With much restraint did I fight to keep from taking that soft, white hand of yours into mine. What could have been if I hadn't fought the urge?

I pretended to loathe the fact that you made Seeker in our second year. But I loved it, deep down inside. Chasing after the much-elusive Snitch gave me such adrenaline rushes, and it wasn't because of my love of the game. Flying side-by-side with you, seeing you throw furtive glances at me, made my heart race with excitement. I longed for even our fingertips to touch -- and at some point they actually did -- for me to feel your smooth skin against my own.

I should've told you. Right from the very beginning, I should've told you I love you. But I was too cowardly, too scared to admit that fact to myself, much less to you. I fought in vain against your powerful stare that always left me smitten. I longed to see warmth instead of coldness in your eyes. I should've told you, Draco.

You should've said something, too. Right from the beginning, you should've told me you liked how my hair refused to stay down, or how my eyes, even from behind the glasses, put you in a trance, or how my scar was simply exquisite, and not just because of its shape. I find out too late, and worse, from a second-hand source, that you, too, have been longing for my touch, my kiss.

You should've asked me for it. Your captivating eyes overflowing with love, accompanied by the music that is your voice emanating from the perfect set of lips God gave you -- how could I have said "no"? I would've been brave, I would've risked it.

Wouldn't you have done the same?

I take a last, longing look at your pale, lifeless body. I must stop wishing you'd come back to life. I must stop looking up stuff on bringing people back to life. I must stop making Hermione look up stuff on bringing people back to life. I'll never be able to bring you back. No matter how many tears fall off my face and onto the glass cover of your coffin, you won't come back. You can't.

"That's enough, Harry," says Hermione, pulling me away from you. "It's time to lay him to rest."

I oblige grudgingly. I watch as they slowly burn you to ashes, silent tears rolling down my cheeks. Unlike my days in Hogwarts, I don't care anymore if I'm seen crying over you.

Your mother is kind enough to give me some of your ashes. She thanks me for bringing back your body. "I loved Draco very much," she tells me. I respond, "Me too, ma'am. I still do," in my head.

The time has come. Nothing is going to stop me now. I'm doing it for my parents, for Cedric, for Sirius, for Dumbledore. Most of all, I'm doing it for you.

I'm sick of people I love dying because of me.

_Avada Kedavra!_


End file.
